Birds Eating Shadows In Your Yard

In your yard, a crane has come,
and a duck and some other birds
whose names you cannot recall.
You cannot remember if a joke
or an invitation of a cult prophesied 
their arrival. The winter offered you 
a grey sleep, a blend of dream 
and dark perfection. Is this
an extension of your nocturnal vision,
a hurried movement of your eyes
still shut? you cannot be certain.
Perchance this indicates a deeper
knowledge about races of a yard,
of the world. You know but you do not.
The birds, fragments of light, devour 
shadows of your yard. Open the door,
stand there holding the threshold,
cast your shadows.

.

.